


Better late than never

by saboten



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, spoilers for blind betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saboten/pseuds/saboten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mole rats.” Haylen repeats his inquiry only with more bewilderment in her voice. She disposes the stack of folders in her arms on the growing pile on the sofa and turns to face Rhys, who is sitting at the recon data terminal.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Senior Scribe Neriah requested some live specimen for research purposes. She also asked for brahmin and other animal abominations, but you gotta start somewhere. And who am I to stand in the way of science?” He runs his weary hands over his face. “Do we have any location data by chance?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better late than never

**Author's Note:**

> I hate Rhys for his shitty behavior towards the Sole Survior, but I also take deep interest in the softer side he reserves for the people he respects and cares for. Thus me shipping Rhys x Haylen.
> 
> Also, his message on Senior Scribe Neriah’s terminal sparked this fic.

_You gotta be kidding me..._ But then the case of whiskey catches his attention. It’s feels like years since the last time he’s had any booze - and the promised one probably was only the cheap stuff - but better this than none at all. But wait. He’s doing it for science.

Rhys drums his fingers on the desk while he runs a mental weighting of the pro’s and con’s of the proposed mission, and types his reply.

For science.

 

*

“Mole rats.” Haylen repeats his inquiry only with more bewilderment in her voice. She disposes the stack of folders in her arms on the growing pile on the sofa and turns to face Rhys, who is sitting at the recon data terminal.

“Yeah. Senior Scribe Neriah requested some live specimen for research purposes. She also asked for brahmin and other animal abominations, but you gotta start somewhere. And who am I to stand in the way of science?” He runs his weary hands over his face. “Do we have any location data by chance?”

“Let me check. If I recall correctly I do remember them popping up in some reports.” Haylen eagerly shoos him away from the desk and slips behind the terminal, chasing after hazy memories.

“You’re the best, Haylen.”

“I know,” she chirps without looking up. “Could you continue my work in the meantime?”

 

When she swivels around an hour later she finds Rhys slumped on the sofa next to the terminal, her previously neat piles of folders turned into a mountainous landscape. The search for technical documents at the station is a never-ending task, even with all the people present.

“When I die please bury me in this shit so it can haunt me even in death,” he laments with a heavy sigh and rests the file he was flipping through onto his stomach.

“You’re not that far gone yet. So, the closest locations are Jalbert Brothers Disposal and Mass Gravel & Sand. Both up north, and they’re not too far from each other.”

“Good, that gives options. Anything else?”

“Yes, there is.“ She takes a glance at her notepad. “The northern outpost reported sightings of Children of Atom at Jalbert’s. It’s vacant as of now, but there‘s most likely some background radiation. I‘m not sure if your rats are fit for Neriah with possibly enhanced radiation levels.”

“They’re not _my_ rats,” Rhys sniffs but mirrors her grin. He shrugs. “I don’t even know what exactly they’re for. What about the other place?”

“Nothing outstanding. There’s a two-store watch tower on location but according to reports it’s deserted.”

“Roger that. I think you’re right about radiation, so we should go for Mass Sand or whatever first. Better play it safe.” He sits up - causing a slight tectonic shift in the folder mountains - and internally compiles a laundry list of requirements for the mission. “Two extra people should be sufficient, shouldn’t they?”

“You’re going yourself? You’re that fired-up to wrestle mole rats?,” Haylen asks.

Rhys considers. He _could_ delegate the task to some of the low-ranking soldiers but he’s been holed up at the police station since forever and then some. He’s not opposed to field work, even if it involves vicious rodents. Plus, he’s looking forward to the promised prize. “My trigger finger might get rusty from only flipping pages, and I need some fresh air anyway.” Rhys grins his cocky grin. “Piece of cake.”

 

*

Both of them pretend not to notice how quiet the adjoining room has become and on his way out over to the supply room Rhys aggressively doesn’t see the panicky, stealthy ways people return to their tasks. And he’s definitely not thinking about the fact that this behavior is not caused by him being one of the current commanding superiors on the station, with Danse away on the Prydwen.

But he can’t afford to follow this train of thoughts to the source. He already closed that door, so he shoves them as far away as possible.

 

*

He was wrong. It was the opposite of a piece of cake.

The mission started out alright. Rhys moved out with two Aspirants in tow, additional security batons modded to stun and some make-shift bags from duffel for rat containment. Steering away from the feral-infested central parts of Cambridge, there were no remarkable happenings until the northern outpost, and from there on the only sighting until Mass Gravel & Sand was a herd of brahmin. Closer to location, a solitary rad-stag in the periphery was grating on his nerves but it kept its distance and so did Rhys.

It all went downhill when his companions pointed out the first mole rat sighting and the party was about to leave the tree line.

The watch tower was, contrary to report, not deserted.

 

*

Rhys wakes up feeling mangled by a group of Behemoths on jet. His body doesn’t obey him and he’s barely able to open his eyes, while his mind is a sluggish vortex of concepts. Muffled voices filtered through stale Fancy Lads from somewhere next over catch his attention and he strains his ears to listen.

“A haptic drive for my favourite scribe.”

He knows this voice. _Irritating_.

“Oh, thank you! Well done. I can’t wait to have a closer look.”

This one too. _Safe. Precious_. _Family_. Haylen. _Safe._

“Where’s Rhys’ sour face? I have reports for him as well.”

He’s back at the police station. _Fantastic_.

Haylen’s voice changes from cheerful to concerned. “He’s resting now. He had a close encounter with a radscorpion.”

_Oh_.

“Do you need anything? Antidote, Stims?”

“Thank you, but we’re all set. He’s going to make it.”

_Can’t argue that._

“I’m glad for you. Let me know---

Rhys struggles to stay conscious for any longer, but his mind takes a step to the left and he swears he suddenly knows the taste of his eyeballs and everything turns into a merciful, solid darkness.

 

*

“Am I dead?” His voice is a croaking mess and there is a throbbing pain right below his shoulder blade. _Probably not_.

“You’re awake!” Haylen’s face lights up with relief and despite the deep bags under her eyes she beams at him. She hands him a glass of water. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit. Thank you.” Sipping on his water he orientates himself in dim candle light. The first thing he’s noticed were the dredged folders all over the foot end of his bed, then the red of Haylen’s hair and at last the maze of glass ware next to a microscope. The police station’s scribe corner. The two other beds are empty.

Haylen follows his glance and makes to gather up the folders. With a bashful smile, she apologizes, “Oh, sorry. At least your wish somewhat turned real.”

“I’m glad it didn’t.”

“Let me check you up. Do you remember what happened?”

Rhys follows her instructions, opens and closes eyes and mouth and wiggles his fingers on cue. He enjoys the caress of her hands on him more than he’d like to admit, though this might be caused partly by the painkillers. He forces himself to focus. “I... don’t really,” he confesses. “Last thing I recall is that shoot-out with Raiders and everything going to hell. Did we catch anything?”

Haylen returns into her chair next to the bed and while taking notes on her patient she fills him in. “Yeah, let’s go from there. As it turned out, the tower was inhabited by said Raiders -only one guy but with the advantage of his elevated and better defendable position. The noise stirred the mole rat pack so you were fighting on two fronts. The good news is, the Raider was defeated without loss on our side, but all of the mole rats were killed in the action. Save for one, which you guys somehow managed to catch.”

Rhys is ready to look triumphant for at least completing the mission objective but he senses that the story was far from over.

“So on your way back you were ambushed by radscorpions and unfortunately you were stung, in the back, ending up like this,” Haylen motions in his general direction, “but thankfully you’ve been in the vicinity of the outpost and got their help. The guys managed to drag you back to the police station in time. Or it was more you dragging them - they say you walked until you reached the blockade and collapsed only there. They can’t stop talking about it.”

“Wow.” He takes another sip and repeats himself. “Wow. I really don’t remember any of this. And the mole rat?”

“Gnawed through the bag and escaped.”

He leans back into the pillow and closes his eyes for a moment. “If there’s an award for Worst Turn of Events this mission would be a fucking first place.”

Haylen pats his arm. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Happens to the best of us.” Her voice grows small, and serious. “I’m glad you made it, Rhys.”

Rhys can feel his mouth shape into a lopsided grin - damn painkillers. “Me too. Thanks, Doc.”

“It’s my job to prevent you from kicking the bucket.” Her smile is interrupted by a yawn that she no longer manages to stifle. “Rest now, we talk tomorrow.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost morning.”

“You should get some sleep, too.”

“I’m right over here.”

 

*

He’s the station’s hero the next day (and some more). Rhys would have thought it impossible to have his back or shoulders clapped so many times, given how manageable their numbers are, but there seems no end to hands and encouraging words. The soldiers look with different eyes at him too, he notices, especially the ones who have been on blockade duty on his return and therefore front row witnesses to his heroic deed.

He’s never got used to so many people crammed at the police station, now humming with life and never truly settling down to sleep when until not too long ago they weren’t certain if they live to see another day. Those are his brothers and sisters and he would give his life for each of them - and yet strangers. He meets them with cordial respect he deems proper since they dutifully follow brotherhood ideals, but after Gladius it was hard to allow in other people in the way he did with his former team. He’s aware that many fear him for his attitude and the current burst of popularity leaves an odd taste in his mouth.

He also learns that he’s been out for almost 36 hours and Haylen barely left his side during that time.

Rhys reasons against the treacherous voices in his head that she just did her duty as their medic.

 

*

Even with this set-back Rhys doesn’t give up on the mission. Forget the whiskey, it’s a matter of personal pride. He would not allow some stinking rats to best him.

“Don’t over-do it, you ought to let your wound heal properly,” Haylen warns him while she changes the bandages. Her hands linger longer than they should. Maybe. He can’t no longer tell. “Or I’m going to chain you to this very bed.”

“I… understand.” With her help he slips back into the top of his suit and zips it up, trying not to be overly self-conscious under Haylen’s attentive gaze. “I’m taking it slow. But Jalbert’s is the remaining option. For now I need to check the materials. And send out scouts first.”

“Good boy.”

 

*

True to his word, Rhys moves to the garage to look for spare parts to build a cage - anything more durable than bags – or traps. His back aches when he bends over too much so he takes his time, feeling ready to fill for retirement. Eventually his scavenge is successful, he finds some old wooden crates and enough metal pipes to work with.

“I’m out. My bet was on heartfelt confessions in the sick bay.”

Rhys hasn’t paid attention to the chatter from the blockade coming in through the open garage door, but this makes him stop in his tracks. _What_.

“Seems like all of my chances are gone. Is his heart made of stone?”

The response was an energetic whisper. “Shht, are you crazy? You’re dead if he ever hears you.”

Rhys knows he should be able to identify their voices, though the least embarrassing course of action for all involved would to be to pretend he never happened to eavesdrop. _But what the…?_

“Don’t sweat it. I saw him inside before I came out.”

“You’re better right.”

“What was your bet?”

“Them already getting it on. I mean, all the way from D.C. there’s lots of opportunities, right?”

A synchronized sigh. “And I really looked forward to the contents of the jar.”

“It’s up to the scribes now. It’s unfair that they have the advantage of direct intel.”

 

*

_What the fuck._

After a silent retreat into the police station, Rhys’ first impulse is to tear the whole place a new one and feed the bet jar personally to anybody who dared to not look guilty, though he did promise Haylen to not over-do it. His neck flushes with a mixture of fury and humiliation. But he‘s not going to make himself an even bigger joke that he apparently already is.

He settles to stomp up the stairs to the roof top and calm down.

_Was he_ that _transparent?_

His other growing suspicion is that they took pity on Haylen’s apparent one-sided crush, given his own reputation within the ranks. As if people – Haylen aside - would cheer for his happiness. He groans at the very idea that this insanity dates back to the Citadel and longer.

What do they know about him – nothing of substance, and after a while he’s down from murder intent to almost indifference.

 

He knows his reasons. She knows them too. And that’s enough.

 

*

„Are you in pain?“

„Huh?“ Rhys looks up from his food tray.

Haylen sits down opposite of him. „You didn’t look this cranky earlier.”

“No… No, everything’s fine with me. I’m resting properly,” he adds to prove how much of a model patient he is. Of course nothing is fine, at all, ever since he has learnt his whole team is betting on their love progress. In the few hours since then, stewing in his own thoughts made him overly self-conscious of being alone with Haylen and he especially feels all their gazes burning on him and he fucking hates it because he’s not a fucking hormonal teenager. The constant lack of privacy – eyes and ears almost at every turn - worsens the whole thing.

He despises himself for the thought, but he sometimes wishes for the Brotherhood to have taken a while longer to arrive in the Commonwealth.

She teases gently. “Don’t let the rats get to you this much.”

_What rats… Ah yes. Mole rats._ “I’m just thinking strategy.” Between bites, he explains his plans: „It will be the safest to lay some traps at location and return for monitoring. Should have done this right from the start. Neriah doesn’t need the whole pack, a few of them should be sufficient for a start. Plus, they’re transported by vertibird so there’s storage limitation there and on the ship to count in, too.”

“And my patient doesn’t strain himself, so I’m stamping this plan.” Haylen nods in approval. “You’re better prepared than before.”

He winces at her words. “No one could have planned for something like that. Except for the damned Raider, but the rest was outstandingly bad luck. Danse is going to disown me.”

“I know you’ve done your homework. Now with revisions.”

“The next verti comes in three days, so there’s plenty of time to go through with it.”

“You ‘re going up this time, too?”

He nods. “Yeah. Scouting reports should be in tomorrow morning and I want to set up the traps personally. That much I can do.”

“You should consult with your medic before you go.”

“I will. She will most likely clear me.”

“I have the feeling she might, yes. Ask her for some rad chems.”

Rhys loses himself in her warm smile for a second and starts to marvel about her ability to be this natural with him and crack jokes, when he’s battling internal mayhem and fights against his wish to seclude himself from her; find shelter from observation by keeping distance. Of course, she’s the experienced one between the two of them.

He’s staring, and she blushes, and it’s the prettiest colour on her he has ever seen.

 

God, he does not need this.

 

*

The expedition to Jalbert Brothers Disposal this time was a piece of cake. The mission even went according to plan. After camping the night out at the outpost with his team Rhys has found three mole rats securely set in their cage traps, while a forth one was trashed. The numbers should be enough to please Scribe Neriah, and the method proved itself so keeping her supplied with new specimen easy to organize.

He stores the crates in one of the cell blocks, cautious to avoid a mole rat infestation at the police station. After that he reports to the sick bay to attend to the scratches and bites on his hands. Those little bastards bite with no mercy, and there he only wanted to feed them. Haylen tries to console him with the fact that it’s only mole rat and not another scorpion.

The next day fares without incident until noon. The supply vertibird finally arrives and Rhys personally oversees the shipment on deck and chats with the pilot, inquiring about Brahmin shipment.

The pilot gives him a look as if he’s grown a second head himself. “Only over my dead body.”

“Thought so.” Laughing, he pats the pilot’s shoulder and makes to say his good-byes when the door to the station flies open and a distraught looking Haylen storms toward them.

She looked partly relieved. “I thought I have missed you. Can you take me to the Prydwen?”

“We still have room for passengers, sure. If you don’t mind riding alongside filthy rats.”

“Thank you.” With a sigh tension releases from her body.

“Take-off in five, hop up,” the pilot instructs her and turns back to Rhys.

Who in turn looks very confused about the whole exchange, and even more over the fact that Haylen, without heeding him a second thought or word of explanation, goes straight to the vertibird.

“Where are you going?” Rhys catches by her arm.

Haylen whirls around. “Rhys, do you trust me? I have something important to do. I explain later.”

He holds her steadfast, troubled gaze for a second, searches her face for any hint. Rhys releases her. “I do.”

 

*

Rhys knows something is off as soon as he steps back into the police station. The air is filled with uneasy energy and people talking over each other. He’s saved from the trouble of asking when a scribe comes up to him.

“Sir, there’s been a broadcast,” the woman informs him, visibly squirming over her ill fate of being the messenger.

“What about?”

“P-paladin Danse is denounced to Synth. We’re instructed to shoot him on sight.”

 

*

_So this is the feeling of your world falling apart_ , he observes. After the first shock and regaining composure, and after shouting orders to stay calm and wait for new information, he allows himself to sit down and sort out his tumbling thoughts.

It’s clear to him where and why Haylen went.

The man he looked up to half of his life and idolized the ground he walked on, is a Synth. An enemy. One of the worst kinds to boot.

Rhys gives in to exhaustion and slumps on the sofa, staring at the chair in front of the desk and tries to recreate Haylen’s sitting form. Not long ago she was helping him out right there.

_Has Danse even known what he was? Has she known? If so, for how long? Is it even the truth?_

His shock turns into anger the more his thoughts spiral into doubts and disbelief. He does not know what to believe in anymore and in his mind he constantly replays the last conversation with Haylen on the roof top, looking for anything to tip him in the right direction.

He trusts her.

She’s asked him and he replied truthfully, so he’s going to sit here and trust her doing whatever she was doing and pray that her justifications would make sense to him.

Rhys does not dare to explore the idea of her lying. Not even for a second.

 

*

Five days later the next supply vertibird arrives, and with it his payment for his troubles. In the chaos of the past days he’s totally forgotten about the whiskey and stands dumbfounded when he’s handed over the case.

Five days later he hasn’t heard anything from either Danse or Haylen, and alone with his thoughts his patience is growing thin.

“Oh yeah,” the pilot tears him from his thoughts, “I have something else for you.” He pulls out a briefcase and then a folded piece of paper from there. “Seems like you’re lucky with the ladies, getting love letters and all. The girl was very adamant of me playing mailman. Hope it’s good.” He winks for farewell.

Rhys doesn’t even have the energy to reply to those insults. Instead he places the case of booze on the ground and with shaking fingers makes to open the paper.

                                                    Don’t worry. - H.

His chest burns when he exhales and his legs are a bit wobblier, but at least he has something to clutch onto.

 

_Really fucking cryptic, Haylen._

 

*

His day is ruined for good when the vault guy drops by. Cold rage fuels inside Rhys, he sees right from the start that Noah was involved in the matter. _Of course_.

“Dutifully reporting my mission’s success. The Commonwealth is safe for another day.”

“Was about time. Let me fetch your reward.” Rhys can tell that his shit-eating grin is faker than usual, and due to the current circumstances steers towards a silent corner for some privacy. Much to his chagrin he was dependent on him.

The sole survivor leans in closer and speaks in hushed voices. “They’re safe and sound. She schedules to return with the next vertibird. She wanted to be the one to tell you the details.”

“Thanks.” He keeps a straight face, afraid of any betraying emotions. “Dismissed.”

Noah did not take the hint. “Take good care of her when she’s back, it’s probably the hardest on her.”

“Noted. Go. I have more important things to do instead of babysitting you.”

Now he’s ignoring him just to spite him. “I mean really, what’s this thing between you? Your whole ‘married to the Brotherhood’-schtick doesn’t stand a chance if you’d take a moment to look around and see that Haylen _is_ the heart of the Brotherhood. You can’t find any better. She is the best to ever happen to you.”

That much Rhys knows himself. Was he the best for her, though? And why does everybody and their dog have an opinion on his love life when there are more pressing matters at hand, like an upcoming war? He is so tired and he doesn’t want to discuss this particular topic with the single most irritating guy in the world.

“Look, I know it’s not my place to say anything on this matter, but I can’t watch this sorry waiting game any longer. Go and make her happy, dumbass.”

Rhys bristles but takes a deep breath to hold himself back. “Good thing you know your place then, _Knight_ ,” he spits.

Ever the one to have the last word, Noah can’t abstain from a parting advice. “Think about it.”

 

*

Perhaps he’s more erratic and perhaps he spends most of his time doing push-ups and yes, perhaps his fuse is shorter than usual, but in all the time of waiting he hasn’t touched a single drop. He reads through mountains of paperwork but doesn’t see them. The next five days of cluelessness and inability to do anything are the longest in his life.

She doesn’t say anything about it on her return to the police station. She avoids him though, but Rhys allows her keep her distance even if it requires most of his will power to hold himself back from jumping on her. He tries to read her, and it breaks his heart to see how tired she is. Her eyes lay deep in shadows but she doesn’t seem devastated, acting normally and as expected around the other soldiers, so he decides that’s a good sign.

She will come to him when she’s ready to.

 

*

Later that evening, she finds him sitting alone on the roof top staring out into the darkening evening sky.

“I needed some room to hear my own thoughts.” Rhys answers her “May I?” with a pat on the ground next to him and she stretches out her legs next to his. Haylen leaves a tiny bit of room between them, close enough to feel her warmth yet too distant for him. She looks so small and worn-out in her sitting form. Rhys offers her the bottle of whiskey he’s been nursing. “Scribe Neriah’s reward. Tastes horrible.”

Haylen takes a tentative gulp and wrinkles her nose. Still, she goes for another sip. “All that mole rat business was not in vain at least.” She returns the bottle. “I’m sorry I didn’t look for you earlier. I didn’t trust myself to talk in front of the others.”

He understands. Rhys has pieced most of the puzzles together and he understands. Hell, he’d probably done the same. The question of Danse’s fate hangs heavily between. “How…,” he starts but she answers before he’s able to finish.

“Don’t worry,” she says. That all he needs to know about the Paladin right now.

“I covered for you, they think it’s some business about supplies on the Prydwen.” It’s not wrong, though not the whole truth.

“Thank you.” Haylen rests her head on his shoulder, closing any remaining space between them. At the contact his heart jumps a little and he curses himself under his breath for such juvenile behavior. She closes her eyes. “I’m so tired. Just let me rest for a while like this.”

“Go on. My shoulder is all yours, Doc.” He puts his arm around her, takes another swing and a peaceful quiet settles between them.

After a while Haylen breaks the silence. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to be nicer to the vault guy. He helped out a great deal. You don’t have to be so hard on him.”

Rhys scoffs. He still has a bone to pick with him over their last conversation, or rather Noah’s monologue. “I still don’t trust him. He has no sense of respect.”

“You’re nice to me.”

That makes him chuckle. “You earned that. Fair and square. And you just don’t cross your medic.”

“That’s against my credo.” Haylen punches his ribs half-heartedly and repossesses the whiskey bottle.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, though. I was mad with worry and without any means to know what’s happening.”

“I’m sorry. I was in a hurry.” After a while she adds, “Thank you for believing in me.”

He turns his head to look into her eye. “Do you want to know what kept me going when I was poisoned? I couldn’t bear the thought of being another name on your terminal. Didn’t want to let that list grow longer, and burden you. You’re one of the fucking best and you deserve so much better than this hellhole.”

“Rhys…”

“We are all that’s left and we are still here. Together.” Maybe the universe is giving him hints and maybe it’s time for him to stop pretending to not see them. He gathers up his courage. “Am I too late?”

Haylen needs a moment to process his question. Instead of answering Rhys, she leans into him and cups his face with her free hand to pull him down into a kiss. It tastes of cheap whiskey burns, shy of just a peck of lips. She kisses him once more, putting years of yearning and hidden feelings and desperation into it this time. “Better late than never,” she says at last but her tired eyes beam up on him all the same.

“That’s one way to look at it.” Rhys puts the whiskey bottle out of reach and goes in from seconds to thirds. Resting his forehead on hers, he says, “If… When this is over and we ever get leave, let’s go somewhere. Just the two of us.”

“What do you have on mind?”

“I don’t know yet. Something romantic. We could steal a vertibird and go brahmin tipping.”

She laughs. “Ugh, Brotherhood boys. My mother used to warn me against them. I’m holding you to this.”

 


End file.
